On being the Third

This is my third blog attempt. I mean, if you get to know me, and the comedy of errors that make up my life, you'll see.

I want to state first that I'm sarcastic, a little macabre, and fresh out of fucks. It surprising how quickly one can go to thinking an image meant ANYthing, to find themselves in the wake of their partners' midlife crisis, 2 adult kids and ....surprise! a vasectomy baby. Listen, I don't say that to his face, and I'll forever be grateful that he was a plot twist in my life. I have lost most all of my belongings and probably dignity too, but there is him.

He is my third child. Arriving 22 years after my first, a boy after 22 years of only girls. My pregnancy was physically unbearable. I felt so strange, kind of like I was living a fever dream for 8 months. My then partner was not happy with my decision to not attend my abortion appointment.

I am the third child. I believe it was probably the last chance attempt at a girl for my mom. Which, I gather in the earliest years, was a big deal to her. I don't remember it obviously, but I do remember from about age 8 forward, I had lost my luster, and my ill behaved, probably undiagnosed ADH brother was demanding all the attention she had. I didn't mind. I kept myself busy. Looking back I imagine all of the neighbors in that 4 mile country square probably thought I was abandoned. I mean, we were latchkey kids. Til bedtime sometimes, with my dad being a psychotherapist and my mom a barber. Both providing services in areas that you need to accommodate the clientele, who are also working a 9-5.

I'm trying to think of a time when we all were together, but I can only picture family meetings (begrudgingly attended by sullen kids, myself included.) Looking back I have sympathy for my parents. I mean there were three of us, three years between each, and my oldest brother was the basketball star on the small hometown team. That shit is serious. He's now married to a cheerleader from the rival school. His kids go to the rival school.

I wasn't any sort of superfan, and I was highly UNathletic, but I was smart, read books constantly, and honestly learned how to just fly under the radar as a kid.

When I was 16 I was sent to a psychiatrist who asked me to share all my feelings. I remember I said to him that my boyfriend had been cheating, and I caught him, and that led to me hating myself, my body, my face. I just was experiencing my first heartbreak, but prozac was on the menu from then on. Now middle aged, I will be on something for a chemical imbalance for the rest of my life. I appreciate their intention, but to be honest, I feel like that kind of threw my body into adult mode and I've had mental health issues fast and hard for most of my life.

Which makes a lot of sense in my most recent diagnoses of BPD, or Emotional Regulation Disorder. I am the "quiet" subtype - meaning I don't get angry at or hate other people, I just hate myself. I recently voiced those words out loud and it triggered a memory for me - my mom offering me $3 to stop saying I hated myself. I appreciate the bribe, I've offered some of my own. But I think a 7 year old puking at the idea of a math quiz, saying she hated herself and pulling her own hair out (absolutely a repressed memory) is certainly not typical. I also know that BPD was so so stigmatized, and probably not even an idea on the radar. I spend too much time imagining what would have been different in my life, but I always land on my kids. I don't know that I would have them had I not endured my own journey, so I'd keep it the same always.

I actually feel a lot of gratitude parenting a toddler at 45. They remind me to slow down and watch, eat the ice cream, have family art nights. He gets a different mom, not better or less, just different. I'll end this here and I'll be back. For real this time.

I'm still feeing the postpartum but no one sees an almost 3 year old and thinks that's possible. But it is. I never hated myself so much or felt less equipped to care for my sweet baby. I was old, and tired, and just so sad. I wanted him to have adventure and fun and a life of joy. Hopefully I'll trauma dump here in the ether and cross my fingers that someone in the world has felt this way.